Page 9 of Please Send Snow
“Next, you write something you want for someone else,” I tell him.
“Who?” he asks.
“Maybe for your dad?” I suggest.
I can’t help thinking again of how handsome his dad is, and I immediately feel mortified that my mind is going there in front of his little boy.
“I know,” the boy says happily.
I watch as he writes.
fune move
What the heck does that mean?
“My dad laughs when he watches funny movies,” the boy says, his own little face lighting up with a smile.
Funny movie, right.
“Mine too,” I tell him, leaving out theused toas I think about my dad cracking up over Robin Williams or Steve Martin.
“Now what?” he asks me.
“Now you ask for something for everyone,” I tell him. “Something that you think would make everyone happy or make their lives better.”
He beams and gets right to work.
ples snd sno
“What does that say?” I ask him.
“Please send snow,” he tells me. “I want to see it.”
“You’ve never seen snow before?” I ask.
“I’m from California,” he tells me. “But in the movies, snow makes people happy. There’s supposed to be snow here. My dad said so.”
“That’s true,” I tell him.
I don’t mention that snow also makes the roads dangerous, and inconveniences people when there’s too much of it. Those things don’t change the fact that everyone in this lobby is probably hoping for a white Christmas.
“Now you fix it,” he says, pushing the paper and pen to me.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You fix the mistakes,” he says, like I should know this. “And then I’ll write it nicely.”
“Oh,” I say.
He seems to be into it, so I don’t bother telling him that Santa doesn’t take points off for spelling. I just make the changes and push the pad back when I’m finished. He immediately tears off the original list and carefully refers to it as he slowly rewrites a final version.
I’ve been there, kid. Maybe you can fix my book next.
I’m so busy watching him that I don’t notice his father approach until a shadow appears across the page.
“What’s this?” a deep voice asks.
I look up, and up, and up at the handsome face of the man whose icy blue eyes are fixed on his son’s handiwork.
